I woke up to the constant ringing of the bell inside my head. It seeped through my consciousness, invaded me in my mid sleep and snapped my eyes awake. My throat was dry, and my body felt swollen from the yesterday's work, but I knew better than to rest in the piece of rag laid on the floor. If the bell didn't wake you, the Sentinel's whip will.
As I woke up in my half asleep state, my eyes scrutinized the room, or to be precise, cave. I was surrounded by thick black rock, with a small stream of water escaping through the holes of the rocks. It flowed down and retreated along the ditch that led to the cage door. The silver lock and chains that forced the two doors together are gone. The time was right. Time to get to work.
I walked in a lazy gait to the stream of water and collected a handful before splashing it to my face. The cold water gave me a boost. It snapped my eyes awake, bringing me back to reality. I quelled my thirst with another handful and wiped my sweaty neck and armpits with my moist hands.
"Tiger," a rough voice echoes through the cage door, calling my name. "Ten minutes."
A dark figure was standing beside the cage, at least twice taller than me, wearing a black breastplate with a crimson red pauldron, his face covered with a helmet and two demonic eyes gouging out from the spaces in between.
He intimidated me once, a long time ago, but when you see the devil every morning you wake up, you get used to it. My fear lied in the object coiling around his left pauldron - a whip. I had taken the beating, and I knew the rules. And he knew I knew the rules. He only threw a glance at me before crouching down and sliding down a plate of green goo mixed in with a white syrup.
My eyes twitched, and I risked to talk.
"What's so special today?"
They never give you food just after you woke up. You needed to work enough to earn your breakfast. But I didn't work. And yet here was the famous cooking of Ulzak staring at me, pleading to be gobbled up.
"We found a troll," the Sentinel replied, his eyes expecting an reaction. When I give none, he continues. "A Scavenger. Going to be a worthy catch, so you miners will not be getting more food until you bring what Baron wants."
Baron had high demands these days. The King's Trial was coming soon, and everyone was allying themselves with the suitors. And what better way to get their favour than give them a wrapped present earned by dead corpses of miners. I wasn't overestimating the troll. I never overestimate an enemy, nor underestimate one. But trolls were a different case altogether. The weapons they had were all natural. Their muscle ripped arms, the two gleaming white tusks, plus their enhanced instincts, all threw it to a level of an formidable enemy.
Us miners were taught how to fight and how to defend the time when normal children suckle breasts and learn to walk. The first object a newborn miner gets was a dagger. You accidentally stabbed yourself? That's a misfortune, because inside the labyrinth only the strong survived. The weak went back to the land of the dead. But no matter how much training we received, there was always the chance some monster would inevitably kill us. That's the fate of us miners. We were born to die.
What's the point in living anyway?
I ate the Guvart Fruit mixed bowl, the fleshy parts of the sliced fruit ripping itself inside my teeth. Sometimes it tasted bitter with the salt concentrated syrup in it, but I somehow managed to gobble up everything in my bowl. I felt the need to throw up, but my legs wouldn't obey. They moved on their own, opening the cell door and entering into a corridor that spiraled downstairs. Down below in the barren land, I caught the silhouettes of Sentinels and Miners alike, some already dressed in their working uniform.
I scrambled back into the cage and puled out the working vest. A thick piece of clothing made of strong fibre - the only protection we had against the monsters the labyrinth gifted us. It survived the scratches of a wolf and a bear, but it was obvious the garment wasn't made to barricade the tusks of a troll. I left my jeans the same as before and reached out to the pendant hidden under the rags. Most of the iron coating was being eaten alive by the rust, but as I opened it, the drawing of my mother still remained, her smile the only benevolent thing that gave me life in this living hell. Embedded to the other side of the pendant was a half broken shard of glass, which reflected my face back at me.
I shuffled my black overgrown hair and wiped the last remaining drops of water from my face. My cheekbones pushed out from the skin, and my cheeks sank to my mouth. My teeth were faded yellow and a slightly grown beard hanged above my lips, proof for me being a seventeen year old.
I hung the pendant around my neck. I wasn't stupid enough to leave it inside my cage. The Mines were popular for all sorts of thieves. I didn't want to lose the only memory of my family for a random crook. If someone decided to snap this out of my neck, I won't hand it over to him without a fight. If I wanted to die, I would die with the only memory I have.
*
There were hundred and two stairs in total. Some of them couldn't even be called stairs, just some rocks shaped in thick rectangular blocks which the Sentinels called the stairs. They were incredibly steep. One misstep and you fell down to the arena below, and in your final moments you could see several Sentinels looming over you, a little disappointment hidden in their eyes for losing a precious creature they could have utilized.
Normally Miners had a schedule - those who had the Day shift and the Night shift. It was the Sentinels that announced the end of the shift and start of another. Day and Night didn't make much of a difference when you were surrounded by torches and reflective ore. For seven years none of us had ever seen the daylight, or what it felt like to bask in the warmth of the sun.
Today I saw each and everyone assembled. It was Daytime, and the ones who bore the previous Night shift leaned on the stony walls or simply squatted down on the floor to let out their fatigue. Lucky bastards like me who got a good night's sleep huddled in groups, talking with each other about the upcoming expedition.
"Morning Tiger!" I heard a familiar female voice behind me.
Alisa and Shade approached me as I desperately tried to rubberneck a conversation. They were twins, born and bred together with their freedom lost together. I befriended them on an expedition to mine crystal ore. I saved Shade's sister being eaten alive by the white wolves and the two of them had been grateful for me ever since. I spent most of my free time with them, either exchanging fables about the world up above or our own unique childhood stories.
Both of them were wearing the same garments as me, with Alisa's auburn hair held back and tied in a ponytail.
"I thought you two had night shift," I spoke my thoughts.
Alisa shrugs. "Jay exchanged duties with me. He told me to get a good night's sleep. Who knew shit like this would happen?"
I felt a twinge of envy arising within me for this mysterious Jay personage. Recently he had been too close to Alisa, not that I am complaining, but I don't need Alisa's friendship with me to deteriorate because of this newly found male figure.
"Heard you had a rough time yesterday," Shade said, nodding at the scratch marks on my wrists - nostalgia from the Berserks. That's what I like to call them. Rabid dogs with extremely sharp teeth and long legs that sprinted after their prey until it got cornered - yeah, definitely Berserks.
Alisa, as usual, grabbed my hand and examined the claw marks, as if her mere gaze was enough to heal the scratches. "What happened?"
"Just found a pack of rabid bitches," I tried to shrug away the unwanted attention. There was no point in being a crybaby. It was something the Mines stole away from you when young. You cried, they whipped you harder. Cry more, and the next thing you know, you were dead, with your throat sliced from the own pocketknife you carried.
Alisa's eyes were still fixed on my wounds. I loved her concern, but there were other things to dwell on rather than a trivial scratch mark.
"They've got a troll," I retold what I heard. "A big one. A Scavenger."
Their expressions never faltered. Apparently I was the naive subject here.
"I don't know who gave you that idea," Shade sent his uncleaned hand through his hair, collecting dandruff along the way. "We are hunting a pack. Not just a single one."
It seemed the man who talked to me has a habit of dropping off important segments of a conversation. Then again, I was just a regular miner to him. The value of my life was similar to the other few dozens of people gathered here. Young and old didn't matter. People who spent their whole life inside this hell had a more clear understanding of the enemies, but their bodies always betrayed them during battle. They were the first victims. The young people had the agility but not the wits. They used the usual cliche techniques. Hit and run, distract and run, run and run, and in the end they were cornered. They were the last victims.
The familiar sound of the bell rang around the cavity once again. Everyone's attention fell on the center, where they kept a circular stage, where the Baron kept his speeches. Sometimes we heard them up inside our cages. His voice was rough and loud, but despite our hatred towards the man, I had to admit he was a good speaker. His speeches were short, up to the point and even managed to give us a strand of hope and motivation.
Today he was in the same mood as the majority of the people in the room. The dark tones under his eyes and the way he craned his neck a few inches downward was proof enough to show the man was woken up from a deep slumber of his own. Part of me was enjoying his distress. At least now he would know what it felt like to be a Miner every morning.
"This is bad," Shade muttered under his breath.
Just the same as him, a part of me was afraid, a feeling that was equivalent to the expressions of the others. The Baron arrived to the mines the last day of every week, or when there was an important bait to lure inside those tunnels. Today was the fifth day of the week, which meant the reason was the second one - A pack of trolls. Troll tusks received carriages of gold in the markets above, and the butchers will pour down at Baron's feet to get the venison. Despite the grim lines of his lost sleep hidden in his eyes, I saw the man's lip's curling to a smile.
They say money made a man.
People stood up, with some old men letting out sounds of discomfort from their mouths as the spines straightened. The ones who had their eyes closed snapped them open, eying their leader with a face full of emotions. Three guards surrounded the circular podium, with spears in both their hands. The golden hilts gleamed in the dancing firelights, giving us a sense of awe and fear.
It was gold taken from us, gold mined from our blood, from our sweat! But they enjoyed the luxuries as if it were all their possession, without even a hint of gratitude to the people who died inside the labyrinth in the search of the very weapons they were holding.
"I received the news a few hours ago," Baron started, proving the obvious. "One of the miners saw a pack of trolls gathered near the Whitewater stream. Five males and one female. What's more," his lips twisted in a cruel sneer. The drowsiness in his eyes were nowhere to be found. "One of them is a Scavenger."
The famous male Scavenger. A rare breed of Trolls who were more larger and stronger than average trolls. Nobles loved their bones. If we managed to capture the beast, I could imagine the fate of the creature. Sold to the butchery, skinned alive, they get the venison and the bones are sold by Baron to the high houses. It would be a display for the guests, and that's why we were here. To entertain guests.
"The Sentinels will lead the way," Baron continued. "Everyone knows the drill. You get your usual weapon set. The objective is to kill, and the one who manages to land the final hit gets a piece of the meat plus two off days."
The last sentence lifted the morose mood a little, but in our hearts all of us knew the battle we were fighting was a lost cause. Especially young people like us. The trolls were rare, and it was the very reason why many of us still stood alive. They were predators, ruthless hunters, and they preyed on the young ones. Our flesh was still clean and healthy, our corpses were sweetmeats and our screams were more pleasant for their ears.
I felt Alisa gripping my hand. I didn't know which was more sweaty - hers or mine.
"What's with the long faces?" Baron smiled up above in his podium. "You are doing a massive service to the throne. Now, get to work before the whips come in."